Eblanned: I can't get a signal femalegra side effects Nosing gingerly into the morning traffic it soon becomes clear that the Veyron is as easy to drive as the Golf – presumably why the likes of Simon Cowell and Ralph Lauren seem so relaxed about pottering around Beverly Hills in theirs. Being a 'Super GT' as opposed to a supercar, the Veyron has none of the high-pitched, ferine nature of the Pagani Zonda, or the bowel-loosening basso profondo of the Swedish Koenigsegg – both of which I have been fortunate enough to drive, and are probably the only other cars likely to figure on the same shopping list. All is relatively calm and refined. In fact, I soon forget about the price tag and concentrate instead on orchestrating gaps in traffic so that I can indulge in slingshot bursts of acceleration. The slightest dab on the throttle provokes such shocking thrust that it takes a while before I dare floor it fully. When I do, for the teensiest fraction of a second, and with a good few hundred metres of open road ahead of me, I am nosing the rear bumper of the car in front before I have time to catch my breath.